Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  Madeleine alternated between checking the mileage on the odometer and glancing in her rearview mirror, willing her quarry to follow her out of the flat, rock strewn sand flats into the rugged terrain of rocky valleys, hills and sand blasted mountains. The Judean desert was a mixture of dunes and small mountains with deep valleys cut into the crumbling rock. Madeleine favored cover for the fight that followed close behind. She was surprised the assassin followed her out into the wild, allowing her to choose the terrain for their confrontation. Either the woman was overly confident or saw this as her only opportunity to kill her. Madeleine was more concerned about two things, having adequate fuel to drive out of the desert and water if she did not.

  The terrain began to change abruptly and the pounded dirt road began to weave through the jagged rock outcroppings that rose out of the desert as far as the eye could see. Madeleine worried the road would abruptly end and she would have less of a choice when it came to stopping the Range Rover and taking cover. She scanned the road ahead and made her decision. Madeleine stopped the vehicle, pulled out the keys and opened the back seat.

  “Merde,” she exclaimed finding only two loose grenades and a heavier caliber pistol. She grabbed the equipment and took one last look inside the vehicle for water. There was none. Her assailant’s vehicle stopped more than 75 yards behind her, at the extreme of pistol shot, even for her. Momentarily perplexed, Madeleine quickly scanned the exterior of her vehicle for a jerry can of water. She spotted one, strapped to the rear of the vehicle and moved towards it, but inches from her outstretched hand, bullets struck heavily into the rear door. She flung herself behind the safety of a rock pile and scurried away. That’s why she stopped so far away, she has a sniper rifle. She wasn’t about to follow me into rocks, Madeleine thought. She didn’t follow me into the desert for a game of cat and mouse; she wants me to come to her. Madeleine moved further into the twisted ravines and damaged rock of the massive stone abutments, still hoping to draw the killer in.

  Amaya moved carefully up to Madeleine’s vehicle, keeping her body behind the natural cover and her semi-automatic weapon. She held her body in a practiced crouch position, constantly sweeping the short barrel of the vicious little weapon from side to side. She had the selector set for short bursts. Now she only needed it for cover as she quickly sheltered her body behind the open driver’s side door. Keeping the majority of her body behind the door, Amaya scanned the hood and located the dual hood releases. Darting around the front she released the first clamp and moments later the second. Spotting Madeleine’s tracks in the sand, she fired a burst in that direction. While the echo of the bullets still rebounded, she reached into the engine compartment and pulled all of the alternator and spark plug wires she could grab. With these in hand, she moved around the back of the disabled Range Rover and stuffed the wires into her back pack. She constantly kept her eyes forward, expecting an attack at any moment. Little more than a minute had elapsed, but she intended to take no chances. Her admiration for the older assassin had grown during the chase. Toche was no coward, but she was human.

  Amaya jammed her hand into her pack and pulled out a trench knife. She stabbed it into the bottom of the Jerry can and released a strong flow of water. Without pause, she opened the gas cap, slashed at her tunic and ripped a long piece of fabric from the cloth. Standing, she swept the hillside in front of her with another short burst, hoping to buy a few more moments. She feared being pinned down herself, before she could carry out her plan. Amaya twisted the fabric into a haphazard rope, tying a couple of small knots for stability. She plunged the cloth down into the gas tank and ran it in and out several times soaking it in gasoline. She picked up her weapon, and pulled a lighter from her pocket. It struck immediately and she lit the makeshift fuse. The moment it ignited, she sprinted in a direct line from behind Madeleine’s vehicle, distancing herself from the coming explosion.

  The moment Madeleine heard the explosion; she turned and ran back towards her Range Rover. The rocky terrain and the twists and turns of the narrow bottom of the ravine slowed her down. She paused just short of the opening leading to her vehicle in the event that the explosion was a ruse to flush her out. Her instincts told her the assassin’s plan was to let the desert kill her. As she watched the fire rage, engulfing the Range Rover in billows of black smoke as the tires burned, she knew she was right.

  Scanning the road, she saw the tell-tale dust kicked up by her attacker’s fleeing truck. She had misjudged her enemy. It was a serious mistake. She was too far out to signal for help. It was unlikely that a vehicle would wander this far out into the desert.

  Blaming myself won’t help, Madeleine thought. I need to get moving and travel as light as possible. She unloaded one of her two pistols, and put the magazine in her pocket, tossing the empty pistol aside. Madeleine looked down at her clothes; they were loose and covered her body. At least she would have some protection from the sun. Thankfully she still had her burka to cover her head and face; it was in the pocket of her pants. She wrapped the cloth around her head, Bedouin style, leaving only a small slit for her eyes. Her shoes would have to do and she was thankful they were sturdy and would keep some of the sand and rocks out. She patted all of her pockets and to her relief felt the outline of her sunglasses, and slid them on. The last thing she needed was to be blinded by the desert sun. She turned the dial of her watch to the inside of her wrist, to protect the face from the sun’s glare. With the watch, she could calculate her speed and the time it would take to walk out. Her main problem was the lack of water. It was late afternoon and the sun was moving down. She knew she could survive in the desert for two days without water if she stayed in the shade and didn’t move. Each moment would sap her strength, she thought. She needed to get a head start and continue all night. If she found shade shortly before the sun came out, she would try to survive the day and move again the following night. Beyond that, it wouldn’t matter.

  Madeleine moved beyond the truck. The fire burned more slowly now. The gasoline from the ruptured tank had burned itself off. She stepped onto the hard pack of the road, reminding herself that it could be much worse; she could be lost in the wild of the desert without a landmark or accurate direction. She fell into step, careful to stay on the road, avoiding rocks that could turn her ankle. Her body remembered a forced retreat march in North Africa during the war with the French Foreign Legion, eighty eight steps a minute. It was as if she had never done anything else those long years in between, that her life had only been a mirage, until the desert could claim her, once and for all. Then, as now she had one job and one job only; walk out of the desert.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Madeleine is overdue. I can’t wait any longer,” Jack said. “I’ll have to make a call to MI6 and see if I can get any kind of assistance.”

  “I agree, Jack. It’s been a full twenty-four hours and we have had no word. I don’t know what to tell them. Their first question will be, where do we look?” John said, standing up from the table. “I’m heading down to the pay phone at the corner,” Jack said.

  “Want company?” John asked. “I think we should all stick together at this point. We really don’t know who or what’s out there.”

  “I’ll get my coat. It gets cold out there when the sun’s down. You would think with all that heat during the day, it would at least stay warm,” Karen added.

  “Here, keep this in your pocket,” John said handing Karen a heavy revolver. “It’s a .357 Magnum, point and squeeze. It won’t jam.”

  Karen took the heavy pistol from John without comment. Nobody moved unarmed anymore. The enemy was fighting back in the most personal way. First it was Madeleine. Any one of them might be next.

  The three walked towards the phone booth, less than half a block from the safe house. Jerusalem was modern city and phone booths were plentiful. The fact that they were rarely wiretapped was an added bonus.

  John and Karen watched as Jack became more animated, raising his voice several times du
ring his conversation. Abruptly he slammed down the phone, thrust his hands in his pockets in frustration and walked over to where John and Karen stood in the shadow of a stone wall.

  “It doesn’t matter to them that she’s a bloody war hero. That she did their dirty work for years and years. Not our problem, they said!” Jack said.

  “You don’t have any favors to call in, Jack?” John said.

  “My old crew is gone, or high enough up that I can’t even get a message to them through these ‘cold war’ robots, half of whom have never even seen any action in the field. They vaguely remember Madeleine’s name from their training, but that’s it. They keep parroting the official line, ‘we cannot interfere without direct orders,” Jack said.

  “We will go and see Hartmann in the morning,” Karen said. “He has to do something.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “He’ll trust her to do what is necessary to save herself. I’m worried that he won’t act, or can’t act in an official capacity. His dedication to Israel is paramount. He won’t compromise that in any way,” Jack added.

  “Jack, there is someone we can call, someone who will do something, whatever he can,” John said. “It just occurred to me. I should have thought of it before.”

  “Who is that?” Jack said.

  “A policeman,” John said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “God, I hate the phone,” Horst Stenger muttered as he heard the incessant ringing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed feeling for his slippers with his bare feet.

  When he was a detective the call might have meant a new lead in an investigation or an important arrest. But since his retirement, the phone didn’t ring as often. He hoped his daughters and their children were safe. They all lived nearby in this sleepy little community on the outskirts of Munich. He had worked in the city; commuting from his house for close to thirty years. Now, he liked to spend his time walking to the beer garden, the market, the library and his children’s homes, largely in that order.

  “I’m retired,” Stenger growled into the receiver as he brought it to his ear.

  “Major Stenger,” Jack said, addressing Stenger with his old military rank. “This is Jack Teach. I need your help. I think Madeleine may be in trouble.”

  “Tell me everything,” Stenger said, coming immediately awake as he turned on the lamp and sank into a chair.

  Jack recounted the events leading up to Madeleine’s disappearance. As soon as he finished, Stenger spoke.

  “Madeleine told Willi and I about Hartmann after the war. During my years with the central police, I saw his name on a few documents. But a man of his stature never really goes away forever. So, he is alive and Madeleine has made contact with him.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he can help. His hands are tied. The Israelis and their Arab neighbors are about to start shooting at each other,” Jack said.

  “Yes, but he will know where she is, or at least have a reasonable idea.”

  “If she knew where she was going, why wouldn’t she have told me?” Jack said.

  “You told me that she asked you not to follow her, no matter what happened. You know her better than anyone, Jack. She would do nothing to compromise the mission,” Stenger said.

  “Then Hartmann won’t tell me?” Jack said, barely maintaining his composure.

  “Perhaps not, but, he might tell me,” Stenger said.

  “Do you know him in an official capacity, Horst?”

  “No, but for a terrible moment we shared a trench together. During the first war, he was the best of the best, Germany’s finest.”

  “I was told he was a German spy in the first war.”

  “He was more than that; he was a force of nature,” Stenger said.

  “Please, do whatever you can. I can’t lose her now, not after the war. Please help me find her.”

  “Give me your number and check in at this phone every hour until you hear from me.”

  Horst placed the phone down in its cradle and rubbed his eyes. Madeleine Toche, he thought, my old friend. What have you gotten yourself into?

  With a deep sigh, Stenger picked up the phone to call his closest friend, a man with whom he’d shared the horrors of two wars and their chance meeting and unlikely friendship with Madeleine towards the end of their second war. They had been military police officers given the duty of capturing her, the terror of the Gestapo and the SS. She had killed hundreds of the monsters. They realized that despite being on opposing sides, they were united in despising the Nazi atrocities that they had seen.

  “What did he say, Jack?” Karen asked as he hung up the receiver.

  “We are to check in at this phone hourly, and that he was going to call Hartmann,” Jack said.

  “He knows him?” John inquired.

  “He said something about World War One.”

  “The man got around, it seems,” John said clasping Jack on the shoulder. “We both know Horst. He has connections, he’ll get something done.”

  “He’s retired now,” Karen said.

  “Let’s get back to the house and get organized,” John agreed,

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Berthold Hartmann sat at his desk and stared at his phone. He had heard nothing from Madeleine for more than two days. Ariel had been to the safe house to meet with Madeleine and received the news of her disappearance. Hartmann’s last cabinet meeting had been critical to Israel’s defense. A specific directive had come through concerning the abducted NSA agent. Prime Minister Meir had done him the courtesy of not mentioning it in front of her other ministers, but had taken him aside to tell him that she had been specifically asked not to interfere in the rescue of the agent. Perhaps something could be done after Israel was attacked, but not before. Hartmann was told the Mossad could have no obvious involvement.

  Meir looked him in the eye and seemed to put special emphasis on the word ‘obvious’. He needed no clarification. He couldn’t order anything and his agents couldn’t freelance, but he wasn’t without resources. While he was thinking it through, the phone rang.

  “Yes,” Hartmann said.

  “Am I addressing, Captain Berthold Hartmann, Fifth Army, Brandeburg Division?”

  “Who is this,” Hartmann demanded.

  “Horst Stenger.”

  “My God, Stenger, Verdun was a lifetime ago. What is the retired head of the BKA doing calling me?” Hartmann said, referring to Stenger’s position with the Bundeskriminalamk, Germany’s Federal Police. “Your resources must be excellent to obtain this phone number.”

  “Madeleine’s husband, Jack Teach gave it to me,” Stenger said.

  “So I take it that this phone call is not to discuss old war stories.”

  “I wish that it was, Captain. I regret losing contact with you after the armistice. We certainly would have stories to share,” Stenger said.

  “How is Willi? I assume that he stayed with you after the defeat,” Hartmann said.

  “Yes, sir. He did. Both in the police force between the wars and the second war,” Stenger said.

  “You and he were excellent soldiers,” Hartmann said.

  “We had your example to follow,” Stenger said.

  “More so in the first war, I trust.”

  “Both sir. I did what I could to frustrate Hitler’s master plan in my own way. Yours was more direct, I must say. I assume you read Madeleine’s debriefing dossier following the war,” Stenger said.

  “I did and thank you for not turning her over to the Gestapo after you captured her.”

  “At that point in the war, I wouldn’t have turned anyone over to those butchers, much less Madeleine. Jack feels that she is in trouble and needs help. She was being pursued by a foreign assassin and had to leave our friends behind. Do you know where she is?”

  “The Judean Desert,” Hartmann said. “At least that is where she told me she would go to deal with her adversary.”

  “Then I believe that she is there as we speak. She would certainly have
checked in with you or Jack as soon as she dispatched the assassin,” Stenger said.

  “Your confidence in her abilities is the same as mine. I do not believe she has been killed, which means that she has no ability to communicate whatsoever with her team or with me. I have been forbidden by my government to do anything to assist in the rescue of the agent she came here to retrieve. I haven’t told my government about Madeleine to any great extent but she left a path of destruction to the doorstep of the PLO, and this required me to assure my Prime Minister that the Mossad was not connected to the attacks on the PLO. War is on our doorstep. I have to be cautious; I don’t want to do anything to antagonize the US, when we need their support the most. However, I am open to any suggestions you might have regarding a rescue mission,” Hartmann said.

  “I’m worried that if the French government is alerted, they will take the same neutral position as the Americans. The last thing I want is to have the French issue the same edict to their security or armed forces,” Stenger said.

  “I know how quickly a country can turn on its heroes, Horst. I agree it would be a wasted effort. But I sense from your voice that you have an idea.”

  “Yes, I do, a wild idea, but one that may work. We need assistance to search the desert and we have little time. We need to search the area as quickly as possible, and that means we need an aircraft.”

  “That will be a trick. Any unidentified or unauthorized aircraft will be shot down, especially if it is operating anywhere near Syrian airspace,” Hartmann said.

  “Not if they can’t catch it.”

  “The Syrians have surface to air missiles and plenty of jets, Horst.”

  “Then the pilot will have to fly below radar as much as possible and be prepared to engage the enemy if necessary,” Stenger said.